


Enemy of The State

by AJGhostWolf



Category: Original Work
Genre: Captivity, Dictatorship, Hurt, Rebellion, War, beatings, humans in zoo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:03:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22309066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AJGhostWolf/pseuds/AJGhostWolf
Summary: I just got a rather sadistic idea the other day, thought I'd write it out and . . . . yeah, this exists now. So I guess enjoy!
Kudos: 2





	Enemy of The State

“This  _ man _ is an enemy of the State! He was caught during a terrorist attack and convicted as a terrorist!” 

Logan blearily lifted his head, feeling strain in his shoulders and arms that brought him crashing into the very painful present. His chest hurt and his arm and his leg and his head . . . . 

He was being roughly shaken, which was very unpleasant, and he real- ised that his hands were cuffed behind him and he was being held up on his knees by a harsh grip on his elbows. At just enough height, too, that he was forced to uncomfortably curl at the stomach a bit to keep his arms from dislocating. 

The damned guards holding him like that saw that he was awake and shook him some more, saying something Logan didn’t quite catch. Another man, this one in a business suit, crouched down in front of Logan and grab- bed him by the hair, jerking his head back. 

“So the terrorist’s awake.” His gaze burned into Logan’s with all the force of a jet plane and he gave a sadistic smile. “Good.” He turned and add- ressed what Logan saw to be a big crowd. “He wakes!” 

The crowd jeered and booed, shouting some angry comments that no one could decipher but could probably guess. 

The guards picked Logan to his feet, no pleasant experience, and brought him to the lip of the stage. One held his cuffed hands and the other punched him in the gut, in the exact spot they’d tased him earlier. 

Logan bunched in the middle and started to fall, but the other guard’s grip on his hands just wrenched his shoulders and back and kept him up. All it took was one more punch, and Logan was out cold. 

A cheer went up. 

* * * * *

A splash of very cold water to his face brought him up in seconds, choking and sputtering, trying to scramble away on hard flooring. He disc- overed that he only had his pants on, and that the floor was very cold. And he was in a round cage surrounded by people, like some zoo attraction. 

“This’s what terrorists get,” one of them snarled, spitting at him. 

They were all spitting or throwing small rocks or yelling and it  _ hurt _ and he wanted to hide . . . . 

Then fear abruptly turned to anger, and he lunged at them, snarling. 

The people scattered on that side, but someone on the other had a long stick and they stabbed him with it, right in the ribs just to the sensitive side of his spine. 

He growled and tried to take it from them, but someone from another side of the cage also had one and hit him, and people were still throwing rocks and yelling. 

Logan just spun in circles nigh screaming at them, trying to fight them but he was only one man against at least a hundred of them. 

A blow to the side of his head and he crumpled completely to the floor and bled, fighting to get back up or move because things were still  _ stabbing _ him. There was another impact to the taser-wounds on his diaphragm and he just dropped, curling as tightly as he could into himself and trying to ign- ore the lights and the sounds and the pain and the cold . . . . 

* * * * * 

After entirely too much time, it stopped. 

It took Logan a long minute to realise it, but he stiffly uncurled and tried to look around. 

The man with the suit was there, smirking, with two soldiers, but the room was otherwise empty. 

“I’m so glad they brought you in alive,” Suit sneered. “You’re making such a great example for our people this way.” 

He motioned toward the cage and the soldiers stepped forward, unloc- king the door and dragging Logan’s pained-but-unresistant form out. He was covered in blood from shallow wounds from the sticks and the rocks that now littered the bottom of the cage. 

“Have someone clean out the cage,” Suit said into a walkie. “And stop letting people bring in things, they’re leaving too many possible weapons.” 

“Copy.” 

When Logan was in front of Suit, the soldiers just dropped him on his belly, which hurt like blazes but so did everything else. Again, Suit crouched and used a grip on Logan’s hair to make him look up. Logan just glared. 

“I own you, now,” Suit growled softly. “So you’d probably better start trying to stay on my good side.” 

Logan just glared at him some more. 

Suit stood up and snapped, “Move this damn trash.” 

The guards picked him up, again by the elbows, and drug Logan away, down several hallways and into a different caged room. This cage was smal- ler than the one they’d just taken him from, and shaped more like a rectang- le. It also had grates for floor. 

The soldiers threw him into that cage and locked it. 

He had to lay still for a while to gather enough strength to turn over, but when he did he saw them unrolling a hose and turning a water lever. 

It was at a high pressure and it was cold, and when it hit him it slam- med him into the back bars. That alone bruised him aplenty, he was sure, but they continued to spray him for a solid two minutes, during which time he was sure that all of his insides turned to mush. 

They drug him, soaking wet and freezing, back to the cleaned empty cage and half-threw him inside. 

Gentle was not a word they were used to. 

“That’s what the fekkin’ traitor gets,” one sang softly, sticking his ton- gue out at Logan. 

Logan just levered himself up and crawled to a section of the wall that was the furthest away from them. He curled into a ball against the bars and tried to stop shivering. His teeth were chattering. 

“Oh Jesus.” Suit’s scornful voice echoed around the big room. “Throw some straw or somethin’ in there, we want to make sure he doesn’t die his first night  _ home _ .” 

One of the soldiers mumbled, “Yes sir,” and two sets of footsteps wal- ked out. 

There was a long stretch of silence before Suit spoke again. “Don’t get me wrong, I don’t really want you  _ dead _ , I just want you . . . . not all the way alive.” He began pacing around the room and preaching. “Y’see, people come to zoos to see weird animals put on a show for them. And you, as a Rebel, are one of the weirdest creatures in this complex. And people, which you  _ barely _ are, get showy when they’re desperate. When they’re cold, tired, hungry, confused . . . . you get the picture. So that’s what I want you to be; deprived almost to the point of  _ madness _ .” 

Logan squeezed his eyes shut and tried to ignore him, but his swollen mouth found itself grating out, “You’re . . . . insane.” 

Suit just laughed. “And in just a short time, you will be too.” 

A bunch of straw landed on him from above, where an observatory walkway ran across the cage. 

Suit chuckled darkly. “Enjoy your night.” 


End file.
